Every Day
by helenluvsboo
Summary: A glimpse into Emma Swan's life in two years through one moment at 5am. "Emma admitting she loves Graham?" prompt from grahamsshoelace on tumblr.


**Every Day**

"_Emma admitting she loves Graham?" prompt from grahamsshoelace!_

_This turned out a bit sadder than I anticipated. I wanted to emphasize that she would tell him she loved him on an ordinary day, nothing special, just a realization that her ordinary is loving him. Then it got really depressing. I hope you still like it!_

* * *

Every day seems the same these days, and, though they are sometimes insurmountably difficult, Emma Swan wouldn't have them any other way.

They all start the same.

Jerk awake at 5am to a nightmare of Graham's dead weight in her lap, Henry's tiny pale form stretched out on the Storybrooke Hospital bed, or a combination of the two. Whimper once or twice. Get herself under control. Deep breaths. Get up. Pull on clothes. Check on Henry. Go to the kitchen for hot chocolate with cinnamon to calm herself. Wait.

Because he will join her soon.

Because her partner wakes when she does, and his chapped hands caress her comfortingly, neck to shoulders to back to hips. He strokes her while she whimpers, then moves back to give her space to compose herself. When she gets up, he follows her with his eyes, but does not leave the bed. When she checks on Henry, he begins to rustle in their room, pulling on his own clothing, making just enough noise for her to hear, but not enough to wake Henry.

The kettle begins to boil.

He comes into the kitchen, bare feet padding the floor softly, depositing the comforter from their bed on the couch, and then stands behind her, silently, waiting. She takes a moment to spoon the hot chocolate powder into two mugs—_she always knows that he's coming_—then leans back against the broad expanse of his chest as she pours in the milk and boiling water.

The simplest comforts are always the best.

His hands cup her shoulders and he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek as she swirls on the cream and then sprinkles cinnamon.

She picks up both mugs and he moves back, giving her space again, following her to the couch as she sets the mugs down on the table, then sits in the centre of the couch. He slowly lowers himself beside her, back to the corner, arms on the back and armrest while crossing his legs. Soundlessly, he waits for her.

She releases a huff of breath, and then curls easily into his lap. She feels weak and cracked and oh-so-vulnerable, but she always feels safe in his arms. He hands her the mug with the cartoon cat and keeps the dog one for himself. That always makes her grin.

She leans back against his chest again, sipping her hot chocolate, snuggling closer as he pulls the comforter around the two of them.

They drink in silence.

She licks cream from her upper lip.

She feels better.

She feels happy.

She feels safe.

She feels… loved.

It takes her breath away.

This moment is just like yesterdays. And the previous day. And the day before that. Like last week. And last month. They have had this moment a hundred times before and will continue to have it a hundred times more.

After this, she knows, she will kiss him and he will hold her and then they will go back to bed until 8am, when they will get up, shower together, eat with Henry, walk him to the school bus, and then go to work at the sheriff's station. They will work all morning, have lunch at Granny's, work all afternoon, and then walk to pick Henry up from the bus stop. They will make dinner while Henry does his homework, eat dinner together at the table as a family, and then play games or watch a movie. Henry will help with the dishes, they will go over his homework, and then they will all get ready for bed before piling into Henry's to read or tell him bedtime stories. After that, they have a little date, make love, and go to sleep.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's a beautiful life. She loves it.

She loves him.

He freezes behind her, his mug coming down heavily on the table—_all she can think is 'He doesn't usually do that'_—and she realizes that she has said it out loud. For the first time. In the two years they have been together, she has never told Graham Humbert—_her Huntsman_—that she loves him.

She sets her empty mug down gingerly, avoiding the cartoon cat eyes that now seem harsh and judgemental. She swallows, twists in his lap, and meets his eyes.

"I love you, Graham," she says again, maintaining eye contact. "I'm sorry I've never said it before. That wasn't fair. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, no one else I'd rather be with, and no other way I'd want to live my life then the way we do."

Now it's his turn to swallow. "Why today?" He murmurs, cupping her face, eyes shining with happiness and affection, "Why now?"

She shrugs. "It's an ordinary day," she murmurs, "but it's these moments that matter, I guess…"

He smiles the beautiful smile that makes her heart stop and kisses her with the kiss to end all kisses.

"Every moment with you matters to me," he murmurs, "I will always love you."

She leans against his shoulder, her head fitting snugly against the surve where his shoulder meets his neck. He wraps the comforter tightly around them—_like a cocoon of love, she thinks absently_.

"Every day," she murmurs, lacing her fingers through his, "Forever."


End file.
